Sunday Mornings at My House!

This is what you'll see when Mama arms herself with her camera on a Sunday morning....

Here I go!

Liv's playing with her DS and watching TV.

She's having a jammie day.

Can you read his lips here? I had to chase him for this and caught him mid "What are you DOING?" while brushing his teeth! lol He loves this one. I'm a little afraid though, because he told me "Payback's a bitch." Uh oh.

Here's sleepy head. She's now a teenager, and you know what THAT means!

Must. Look. Pretty. For. Soccer.

There you have it. Team Lemoine on any given Sunday morning. Aren't you happy to know this?

Blogger's block sucks, doesn't it? lol

Happy Birthday To My Newest Teenager!!

Side note: Lord help me. Another teenager.

Another teen GIRL.

Just shoot me now.

Cassie, my sweet, happy, daughter who balances my angry oldest and my spoiled brat youngest.

Cassie, my TV addict. My soccer player.

My easy-to-please kid.

Cassie, who many say is a mini-me!

Happy Birthday Cassie!! I hope you have a great, great day!

Writer's Workshop - Back In Time

I just couldn't get into any of this week's ideas for the workshop, so I went to the very handy "Writer's Workshop" tab and went through Kat's list for some other ideas.

The one I chose was my worst dental experience ever.

I was in college and mainly went for a dental check up before I graduated so that I could still claim it under my parents. (And, of course, being a student, they felt obligated to pay it. Well, that and they knew that I just wouldn't/couldn't. And besides that, my parents just plain old rock.)

I had no tooth pain.

I had no dental issues.

Other than the fact that it had been a while, likely due to my fear of those damned needles they insist don't hurt at all. Uh, hullooh! I grew up with Buddy, my tolerance level is pretty damned high. (But, Buddy, I mean that in the nicest possible way...)

Moving on.

I think this dentist, why don't we just call him Dr. David Mah, seeing as that is a pretty lame-o common name and all, was short on cash, because he insisted I had a tooth that was in desperate need of a root canal.

What the hell?

So, gullible me thought what the hell, my parents are paying for it anyway, and I went along with this whole "root canal" scheme. It got me out of class for a couple of hours, right?

Well, part one went okay. This part one is where they gouge out a nice big hole in your tooth, all the way down to your pelvis, and stuff it full of bleached cotton and leave you like that for a week or so. (It was probably, like, a day or two, but I'm really feeling I need to work the sympathy angle a bit...)

I went back for part two. Which was where they actually fill it in with something and then fill it in some more.

Now normally, they would give you a "this doesn't hurt a bit" "yeah, fuck you asshole" needle and let you sit for 30 minutes while they go to the poor sucker in the next chair so that they can earn enough cash to buy their son a new car.

I did the sit and watch TV route. He came back and discovered, oh, not yet frozen. Let's give you ANOTHER needle that doesn't hurt a bit and let you sit some more. Days of Our Lives was on, so whatev.

He comes back and starts working on my gaping hole. Every time he hits a nerve, I jump.

So he looks at me and asks if I can feel that.

Why yes. Yes, I can.

So he puts another needle down INTO the hole in my tooth. And another. And another.

By now the rest of me is so damned numb I've lost all bladder control and am feeling a bit like a stroke victim. But my tooth? Oh, it was in it for the long haul.

So, after about 10 needles, I kid you not, he looked at me. Just looked at me.

And he said, "I'm sorry. I'll work as fast as I can."

I gripped that remote control so hard, I'm amazed I didn't bust the damned thing in two. His assistant just looked at me, all involuntarily jumping and tears streaming down my face, and says, "Are you okay?".

Huh?

Really?

What do you say to something like that?

Finally my ordeal was over. I handle needles a lot better now. My totally awesome dentist (who is NOT Dr. David Mah, which of course is just some random name I pulled out of my ass) had to give me a needle right in the front of my gum, above my front teeth. He sticks in the needle and it hurt like a son-of-a-bitch! So I yelled at him.

I'm older and wiser now, you see.

I called out a great big "Ow! What the hell did I ever do to you?"

To which he laughed.

And I responded, "I can't believe I'm frigging paying you for this!"

So, there you have my worst dental experience. I have advised my new, wonderful dentist that if ever I need any major dental work again, he can push me out the 2nd story window OR in front of a bus (not both, because that would be just cruel), or knock me out. He can take his pick. But Leon does NOT get a say in that.

Have a fabulous day! And don't forget to link up!

So, Just What ARE Kids Learning In School These Days??

How sad is it that my daughter, who will be 13 this Friday, just last night learned that mushrooms are part of the vegetable family?

She was picking her birthday supper, which naturally was Outbacks and quickly was kyboshed, because HOLY MOTHER are they expensive!!

We went on to decide that her dad would make his soon-to-be-famous-and-make-us-millions ribs. I asked her what she would like with the ribs.

Caesar salad.

Okey dokey. What vegetable do you want?

Ummm…. Can I have a fruit instead?

What fruit would that be, you are wondering, right?

I was wondering too, seeing as I buy fruit that continuously goes bad because “Ew! I don’t like that!”

She wants canned pears.

Seriously.

Her birthday wish is canned pears.

So me, being the amazing mother that you have grown to know and love through my blogging years, let her know that I would be happy to buy her canned pears for her lunches and she does not have to wait until her birthday. It does not have to be an annual thing. I went and bought canned pears that very night.

I’m pretty awesome.

Anyway…..

I asked her again what vegetable she wanted with her ribs.

She could not think of a single one.

So I offered up her dad’s fried mushrooms.

“Gasp! Mushrooms are a vegetable?”

Oh my.

“Technically,” I responded, “they are a fungus. But who am I to judge?”

So there we have it.

Ribs
Caesar salad
Fried mushrooms/onions
Asparagus (for me of course!!)
and for dessert, ice cream cake from none other than Dairy Queen.

Oh, I love birthdays!!

Next on the agenda is to pry out of her what she wants for her big 13th! So far she is requesting a purple soccer ball and Mario Kart for the Wii.

She's such an easy-to-please child.

And I thank God for that every. single. day!

In My Wee Little Mind....

..... I think it's fair to ask kids to do dishes occassionally.

..... I think I'm in waaaay better shape than I actually am. When the hell did my ass start to hang over the sides of the seat on my spin class bike?

..... I'm so incredibly funny. Then why am I the only one laughing at my jokes and one-liners? Seriously! What the fuck is wrong with you people?

..... I'm still 25. No way do I fit the Female, Fat and (almost) Forty category. My doctor actually asked if I think my tummy troubles could be gall bladder, since I seem to Fit the three "F"s. I pretty quickly thought of another "F" word for her. Sigh....

..... I think people noticed my bloggy absence. Either they didn't (except Kim!! *grin*) or they just come to accept that real-life breaks are necessary.

..... I'm not even close to old enough to have an (almost) 16 year old, another turning 13 on Friday. I'm just barely old enough to have my 6 year old for crying out loud. I'm pretty sure I started at 12, which makes me 28. That's pretty reasonable I think.

..... I'll try to find more time for blogging. But really? Real life is number one for a change. Work. Soccer. Exercise. Cleaning house. There isn't much time left after that.

..... I'm still thinking about you all and trying to read some blogs. Truth be told? I'm not succeeding.

Have a great day. I'll probably have a fantastic one .... in my wee little mind that is.

Reality, though? Notsomuch.

The Secret Regrets Of A Stupid, Stupid Girl.

It's time for another edition of Kat's Thursday's Writing Assignment.

The Prompts:

1.) Describe what you would change about yourself if you could.

2.) Book Review! What children’s book do you hate reading to your child?

(inspired by E. from Mommy’s Still Fabulous)

3.) What do you predict will happen this decade? (You can be funny or serious if you like).

(inspired by Christopher from CaJoh)

4.) Choose the 7th picture you took from last January and write a poem.

5.) Write about a heated argument you had with your parents (real or fictitious).

(inspired by Writer’s Digest)

Considering where my life is right now, and where it has been for more than a few years now, there is only one option for me.

Number 5

I need to talk about a time when I was a selfish little 15 year old brat.

Just to make myself feel better about the one I've currently got under my roof.

I need to feel that she is maybe more normal than I am giving her credit for.

I need to share with you my own sad and sorry moments when my parents really should have gotten off the pot and sent me packing.

Instead, they put up with me. As I will endure these times with my own teenage daughter.

This is by far not the worst thing I have done. If you've read my blog for very long, you know I've done some pretty awful things. And if you were invited to my private blog, however short-lived that was, you know that I went far beyond your average teenage girl bullshit.

The rest of you will just have to trust me on this.

However, what I'm going to share is just a little thing that has eaten at me for years. And I don't know if I ever apologized for it. Or even let anyone know that I remember it, let alone still think about it.

Many of you know that I'm Canadian. And many of you will know that Canadians are known for three things:

1. How incredibly nice and polite we are.
2. Eh?
3. Hockey

Obviously, since I'm going to discuss my (incredibly rare) inner bitch, number one is out of the question.

Number two just is what it is.

So that leaves number three.

Have you heard of Wayne Gretzky? Perhaps during hockey games in your own venues, heard "Go Oilers Go!". We had the hockey team to beat. It was, I believe, mid to late '80s. I was somewhere around 14 or 15 I think.

The Oilers won the Stanley Cup. Again. And again. And again.

When "we" win the Stanley Cup, the streets are full of cars driving along waving flags and honking horns. People are high-fiving strangers on the sidewalks.

They close sections of downtown so people can walk along and share the joy. Really, the fans will take over the roads anyway, so for a matter of safety, what the hell? Just close 'em up!

I do apologize for the incredibly long introduction to this post. I do feel that I need to set the stage for the coming story.

Back to it now.

"We" won the Stanley Cup. Me, being a teenage girl, didn't give a shit. At least on the outside. I was way too cool for any of that crap, right? Damn right!

My Dad got behind the wheel of the car, Mom in the passenger seat. Me and Lane in the back seat. I don't think Buddy was there, but I could be wrong.

We drove down to 75th street, which is fairly busy and close to home. The excitement was thick in the air, and even thicker in that car.

Immediately, windows were rolled down. My dad laid on the horn. My mom waved her flag and hooted and hollered! Lane was grinning from ear to ear.

And I was a sullen, miserable, embarrassed, way-too-cool-for-this, girl.

Not only did I not join in the party atmosphere. I demolished it.

I stomped on it and spit on it.

I let everyone in that car know just how stupid they looked and sounded.

And to my shame, the windows went up. The horn went silent. Lane looked at me like I was the biggest bitch he had every laid eyes upon.

And we drove home.

I don't remember anyone ever talking to me about this, except for Lane's "Good going, Rhonda" comment. So I suppose this doesn't necessarily qualify as an argument.

But it falls under the category still, for me. Because, for one of the only times I can remember, I ruined something cool and fun. For nothing.

It wasn't because I wanted a cigarette and couldn't successfully escape my house to indulge myself.

It wasn't because my stupid parents wouldn't let me go to a party.

It wasn't over a pair of jeans that I just HAD to have.

It was because I was a nasty, selfish, stupid teenage girl. And for my own sake today, I had to remember it. And talk about it.

And by way of my humble little blog, apologize for it.

After all these years, I have thought about it. And hung my head. And wanted desperately to relive that moment. To fix it.

I really am sorry.

Wordful Wednesday

Hosted by our favorite Ring Master at 7 Clown Circus.

I haven't participated in a while.

Actually, I haven't been very committed to my blog in a while.

A long, long while.

I'm not feeling like there is anything truly comical in my life right now, and I hate to be a downer, so .... You get my drift.

So I will dig down deep and find something joyful to share with you.

My poor Livvy's birthday is Boxing Day. (For my American friends, that is the day after Christmas). It is the suckiest birthday on the entire planet. Just ask Kat from Mama's Losin It. I'm sure she'll confirm it.

Anyhow, what follows is my dear little now 6 year old's day of fun.

And, although I heard it is not the best way to showcase pictures, I'm going to add more. (According to blog etiquette, you should only post a couple of pictures at a time to keep people interested.)

She did not bake these on her birthday, they followed about a week later, but she was so proud!!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

HAPPY *** NEW *** YEAR!!